


Empty Condolences

by LadyTroll



Series: Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [9]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Gen, I just chose to post it in original work because there are no canon characters here, Mentions of Death, countryside, if any one of you screeches about their occupations Imma flip some tables, set in the Gloryhammer reverse AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25520230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTroll/pseuds/LadyTroll
Summary: A lot of townies dropped by, in the first weeks after the news had been read on the square; some of them truly well-meaning and compassionate, while some, like the neighbour from before, sought to feed their curiosity over other people’s grief while preserving the appearance of outstanding, caring citizens.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540978
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Empty Condolences

**Author's Note:**

> The kitchen description almost ended me ._.

Dusty, early morning sun poured into the house through windows so clean they shone against the winter sky like they had been cut from a diamond. The room bathed in its light was speckless, akin to the whole house, and furnished with old but sturdy and well taken care of furniture. Whoever entered the house and then proceeded through the small chamber and into this room would find the middle of it almost empty, save for a rough rug on the floor. On the left side of the room, there was a long, wide bench that would have doubled as the hypothetical guest’s bed, were they to stay for the night, and where at the current time a couple of boxes stood arranged, an array of scrap pieces of wood in them that lay in wait for their turn to join either the row of carved figurines on the top shelf of the small bookcase on the right, or other just as unlucky brethren of theirs in the small fireplace that did an amazing job keeping the room warm. A soft-looking quilt had been folded neatly and placed on the other end of the bench, providing a company for the boxes. A couple of chairs, big enough for a human to feel ridiculously small when seated in them, and covered in old but well-kept furs, stood at the fireplace. If, after taking in the view, the hypothetical guest was to turn their head to the left, at the very window they would see a table the largest part of which was taken up by a lace pillow with an unfinished work in the making. The aroma of dry herbs wafted in from the kitchen next room over, and it mixed with the faint smell of smoke from the candle that had burned to the bottom and become extinguished on its own just moments ago.

The door to the kitchen opened, and a man entered, his gait heavy after a night of sleep that, in itself, was a thing that had not happened often in these past weeks. Around fifty years of age, he was tall and burly and overall left the impression of a dangerous fellow, even with the morning light colouring his already fair hair and neatly trimmed beard golden, and yet everybody who had the luck of calling him a friend could testify there was nothing vile about him and that the lumberjack of a man was actually as sweet and soft as a lamb.

\- Maeve? – he called out, rubbing the back of his neck with one of those large hands that instil fear in anyone wishing harm to his family, but which hold said family with such care as if they were porcelain dolls.

The woman leant over the lace pillow did not answer, her hands moving with enviable skill of speed and precision, as she wove ornaments as fragile as frost in a window on a cold morning, into being. Her fire-coloured hair had, at some point through the night, been gathered into a ponytail out of which only memories remained now, many a soft wave cascading down her back.

\- Have you slept at all, tonight?

Without looking up from work, Maeve shook her head.

\- You need to get some rest, love.

\- I know you mean it well, Fillan, - she answered, her voice empty, - but if I stop, I’ll—

The poor woman’s shoulders trembled, as she let out a groan and began to sob, not long after covering her face with her hands.

News travelled fast, even on the countryside. Merchants visiting and travellers passing through villages and towns alike brought accounts of lives and deaths, and far-away conflicts that never concerned the simple folk who lived here and now and whose greatest fear was not making it through a harsh winter, and messengers visited, with news of importance and of laws passed that even the lowest peasants should be aware of.

It was hazy, both to Fillan and his wife, as to when the messengers had visited their town the last time. Usually, it was considered an important event, and, just like usually, this time it had gathered a crowd composed of every inhabitant of the surrounding area, save for the elderly and the sickly who dared not leave their home during such dreadful weather. There were important news of laws and events, the couple were sure; ones they had not been destined to hear, however, for, as the rest listened, in stunned silence and with their mouths agape, of their prince and his great allies’ triumph over the fiendish, treacherous enemy in Auchtermuchty, Maeve felt the ground slip from under her feet, and the next thing she knew had been her bed, and afterwards depressing silence had ruled the house for the first week.

That had been a few weeks ago – or were they perhaps months? – and, where Fillan sat and stared into one point for hours, Maeve gave herself wholly over to the tasks that could not wait. Every corner and crack, and crevice, and even the farthest reaches of the cluttered attic found no mercy when she went about her cleaning routine, and even afterwards they would find no peace as the good woman would get to another round as soon as she noticed but a speck of dust on a shelf, and, once that was done, the lady of the house would sit down at her lacework and work, and work, and work, and work until her eyes clouded and tears stained her cheek, and then, when she could no longer see what she was doing, she rose and went about work outside the house and in general kept herself busy until complete exhaustion when neither her body nor her mind cooperated any longer.

\- ‘tis truly dreadful, nay? – full twenty years younger than Maeve, with the tongue of a viper so sharp she could even turn the Cat Sith running, had she willed so, a neighbour that had dropped by, one day, said, while bouncing her child on her knee. – I cannot imagine what I would do, should anything happen to my little darling here. You’re so lucky that you have no such heartache.

\- I beg your pardon? – Maeve had been as dumbfounded as she was angered.

\- Why, you have it easy, you’ve no own children. Think of the mothers that mourn their child right now!

\- Excuse you, _I have a son!_

(At least, Maeve hoped that was the thing she had exclaimed, before storming out and leaving the no longer welcome guest in the company of Fillan, thus putting onto her husband the burden of seeing the woman out.)

A lot of townies dropped by, in the first weeks after the news had been read on the square; some of them truly well-meaning and compassionate, while some, like the neighbour from before, sought to feed their curiosity over other people’s grief while preserving the appearance of outstanding, caring citizens who put neighbours’ well-being ahead of their own. A lot of them bore sad expressions on their faces while casting quick looks about, in hopes to catch a glimpse of anything in the house that might be of a “magical kind”, be it an old scroll or an artefact that the family now found relief for their sorrow within, and many of them spoke empty words while they did, and even more whispered fearfully between them, on their way home as soon as the door had been closed behind their back.

The current mayor’s wife, a short, round woman with greasy cheeks and little brown piglet eyes in her scrunched face, declared, with an all-knowing air about her, as soon as she had given her condolences and stepped into the living room, that her haunch about “this thar whole magic business” had been right, for she “did time and again warn ye, lass, of the ill lucks such parents have”, before praising Maeve for taking up a task of raising “a wizard foundling with likely no good in mind and blood”, while the rest of the wives having tagged along nodded sagely, being, without a doubt, well-versed in the ways of the world outside their town.

“And even if his blood were the faerie queen’s Herself,” just like she had years ago, Maeve once again spat those words into the visitor’s faces as vehemently as though she hoped it would make these people dissolve there and then, while her husband sat there, arms crossed on chest, as he stared down their perfectly well-meaning neighbours with a look on his face that promised sad things in their future, and the only change in the setting was that no silver dagger had been thrown, with repulse, onto the floor at the visitor’s feet this time, “he is still _ours!_ ”

In the present, thankfully, only two people were in the room: Maeve, leant over her work, crying to her heart’s content, and Fillan, leant over his wife as even he struggled to find the right words of comfort.

\- Come, - Fillan finally picked his wife up by the shoulders and urged her towards the kitchen, - it’s early, and you haven’t even slept, let alone eaten.

Their kitchen was small and cosy, and just as old and well taken care of as the rest of the house. On contrary to the large room that doubled as living, guest and work room of the lady of the house all at the same time, the kitchen was remarkably clustered, which pointed it out as the general favourite place of those living here. A table, currently covered with a tablecloth with neatly embroidered corners, stood in the centre of it, with more chairs than were necessary for just the two people living here around it, all but three of them taken up by baskets, pots and other household items that were not in the danger of sudden damage should their owners bump into the chair carelessly. Near the door, between two windows just as clean as the one in the living room, there was a large cabinet – the pride of the masters of the house, every single detail made by Fillan’s own hands, as wedding gift to his wife – with intricate carvings on the door that, once open, displayed an array of beautiful tableware both of pottery and woodworking origins on its shelves, cutlery having found its place in the drawers beneath. In the opposite wall, there was a large fireplace that one could easily walk right into that was used for cooking, and drying clothes in winter, and just warming oneself on the cold, dreadful, rainy days of the year, by simply taking a chair and moving it as close to the fire as one desired. There were shelves full of clay jugs and small wooden boxes on the walls of the kitchen, and there was a smaller cabinet behind the table that left little room between itself and one of the chairs, that was used to store both discarded dishes and food that occasionally did not find a place on the table in times of meals, and a shelf right above it displayed a row of boxes, pots and cups made of birch bark that stored in them salt and other condiments, and bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling above it all, their aroma spreading through the kitchen. A door next to the fireplace lead deeper into the house, and a small door in the corner between one of the windows and the small cabinet lead to the pantry where bags of flour, and vegetables and dried meats were stored, and in the floor of the kitchen, covered neatly with a woven rug, there was the hatch to the basement where jars and bottles of various sizes stood lined up on crude shelves.

Maeve was seated at one end of the table, with her back to the windows, and Fillan pressed a cup of steaming chamomile tea in her hand, took a seat next to her and watched as his wife took a sip without paying attention to how hot the beverage was, before she picked up a piece of bread and nibbled on it, and it might just as well have been cheese, or carrot, or a fancy game prepared with most expensive condiments in the world, by the best cook of the king’s, and it would have made no difference. Nobody spoke, and, truly, the kitchen had nigh forgotten how cheerful voices and laughter during meals sounded like.

What could hardly be described as breakfast, in these circumstances, was nearing its end when a hearty knock on the door made both inhabitants of the house jump.

Fault at the commotion was a man they could vaguely pinpoint as having once lived in the town. He was tall and lanky, and to call him a twig would have been an insult to the twig, for he left the impression that a stronger breeze of wind would topple over and carry him along, which made his choice of joining a military order known for riding giant eagles (one of which was currently seated outside the fence surrounding the yard, stoically ignoring the dog) into battle seem all the more ridiculous. His red and blue surcoat, emblazoned with the sigil of the Knights of Crail, was clearly too short for this fellow, and he had to lean down to get through the door.

Overall, the one introducing himself as Ser Zachary left a rather unpleasant first impression, and his sharp facial features, complete with a long nose, scrappy beard and tousled hair, did not do any part in softening it.

Casually, the knight circled the room, his interest attracted by the door leading into the kitchen for a moment, before Fillan just as casually stepped in front of it, arms folded, letting the guest know uninvited visitors were confined to the front of the house. Maeve had taken place at the table, hands in her lap, her slender, gracious fingers intertwined, as she gazed at the Crailian with a blank expression on her face, her eyes reddened and cheeks strikingly pale against the fiery hair. The cup she had taken with her from kitchen by pure impulse sat on the table, forgotten, its contents cooling.

\- I take it, - Ser Zachary shook himself, looking at Maeve, his initial carelessness gone, - you have already heard of the events that have transpired in the City of Auchtermuchty.

\- So we have, - Fillan took over, knowing his wife to be of no disposition to talking right now, least of all to random knights of Crail, and his voice was as hard as the stone their house was built of. – A month or two ago, actually. Is that all that a Knight of Crail seeks to do here? Making sure we have heard?

\- I am here, - the knight straightened his back (thankfully, the ceiling of the room was higher than the doorframe had been, otherwise it would have ended in a stalemate between him and said ceiling), to look taller than the woodworker, only to realize that height meant very little in this situation, - on the behalf of His Highness, Prince Angus.

\- And what does the prince want of simple folk like us?

\- If you know, - Ser Zachary (now they remembered that this fellow was the son of the late mayor) puffed up like a young rooster released into the poultry yard for the first time, - that His Highness, together with his mighty allies, the Knights of Crail, dealt a blow to the enemy cowardly hiding in Auchtermuchty, then you must also know of the unfortunate circumstances of the escape of one of the enemies of the Kingdom of Fife. As the messenger of the honourable Grand Master Ser Proletius, I am here on an official duty, in searches of information on the fugitive.

\- And perhaps you think it is us who are hiding a wizard in our attic? – Fillan raised his voice, just a little, but enough for Ser Zachary to throw a glance at the door. – Or maybe under our floorboards, in the basement?

\- We have been sent out to check on all the families of the wizards who were living in Auchtermuchty at the time period when the events took place, - the knight gulped, louder than he wanted, - and I must remind you that refusal to cooperate with the Royal house of Fife will be seen as treason. Therefore, I must ask you to stand aside and let me do my job. If you have… - he needed a moment here, to gather himself, - if you have nothing to hide, there will be no further intrusions to your lives. That I guarantee.

***

It was not that Ser Zachary was allowed to simply roam and make a mess around the house and the family’s land, alone. Followed close behind by Fillan and the impressive guard dog that the master of the house had purchased at a market a few years ago and who had developed such great attachment to the third inhabitant of the house when the aforementioned person visited that it would have been enough for the animal to attempt to maul the stranger, had he only known what the high-esteemed ser was looking for, the knight appeared dead set on shoving his nose into the smallest spaces, hand on his sword at all times, as though he expected the hypothetical wizard to jump him at any given moment. He went through the house, made a mess of the small stacks of papers and other items he found in the two bedrooms, stuck his nose into the basement and the pantry, rummaged through the woodworker’s workshop and the barn on the other side of the yard and almost got kicked by a very impatient, grouchy cow that considered humans her personal servants and felt deeply, utterly offended when she saw the strange tall guy had dared not to bring carrots along when coming into her home.

Maeve had not left the house, leaving it up to Fillan to deal with their unwanted visitor, and, when they returned from their peculiar excursion through the property, it did not appear as though she had even moved in their absence. The huge dog, having weaselled his way into the house with enviable speed and skill, shoved his head into the mistress’ lap and licked her hands.

\- It appears, - Ser Zachary cleared his throat, - there is nothing of interest for the prince and the grand master here. I apologize for my intrusion, earlier, and offer our condolences to you, and hope that—

\- How dare you! – while usually soft, Maeve’s temperament was just as fiery as her hair if she only willed it so, and, by all the gods of Fife, she did right now! The dog jumped back, as the lady of the house rose from her chair. – How dare you! You murder our only child, and then you barge into our house like we were criminals, and then offer us your empty words! Why, I shall hope and pray, to the gods, that the wizard plans their revenge!

\- With all respect, Ma’am, but—

\- Get out! – Maeve made a step towards the knight who, on his turn, gazed about, as though seeking an ally in the woman’s husband, only to find that Fillan was in no way inclined to intervene with his wife’s current affairs, and not even Ser Zachary’s status was going to save him from the wrath of a mother in grief. – Get out of my house, or I swear I shall throw you out myself and have my dog chase you!

As if emphasizing her words, the large animal by her side bared his fangs in a growl, letting the knight know he would, with utmost pleasure, try the surcoat’s durability as a chew toy, the black spot on his chest akin to a gaping maw right now.

\- I am a highly esteemed member of the order! – Ser Zachary puffed up again, forgetting these were people who had seen him run about the town with his knees bruised and face dirtied and had precisely zero regards for his status, now more so than ever. – I will not stand for such treatment!

Born the third son of a minor noble family, with no claim to his father’s land or money, his birth status had yet been high enough, to secure him a place in the order of the Knights of Crail – a thing Ser Zachary himself found immense pride within. His family had always been one to hold their noses up, as is the general behaviour of local countryside aristocracy who are much rather the first in their village than the last in the king’s castle, raising their children accordingly, with high hopes set for all five of them, and his mother took pride in all of their achievements, be it a successful marriage to worthy suitors, for her two daughters, or the success in business for the two oldest sons, or the quick ascension of the career ladder for the third. Thus, it was understandable that Ser Zachary should feel his success and importance were diminished at the moment.

\- The do so far away from our home! – Fillan straightened his back and squared his shoulders, and in doing so he looked much more imposing than the dry twig of a man standing in the middle of the room. – You have seen there to be no wizards in our house, and doing so you have abused our hospitality and kept me and my wife from our daily business. Leave, _now_.

Even as a child, Ser Zachary had been of miniscule spirits, and now he seemed to shrink under the gazes of the woodworker, his wife, and their dog, and admitted he was, indeed, being late for his next appointment. He spluttered a half-hearted apology, then another half-hearted condolence, on his way out, and shut the door behind him just on time, for, had he lingered just a second longer, the ceramic teacup would have been smashed against his head rather than the door.

The eagle screeched, taking off with a rider on its back, and the dog barked like mad, and Maeve broke down, weeping, and would have done so on the floor in the very spot she stood, had it not been for her husband catching her up before she did, even as Fillan himself sobbed like a small child.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's get one thing clear: despite the fact I made him Ser Proletius' second-in-command in [Auchtermuchty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22399417), Ser Zachary is and stays a giant tool.


End file.
